


You Know in the End

by Miaou Jones (miaoujones)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Christmas, Family, Friendship, Gen, Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 18:16:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/298643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miaoujones/pseuds/Miaou%20Jones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Arthur remembers everything and Alfred completes a promise that was unfulfilled, though never broken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Know in the End

**Author's Note:**

> Written for taleness, for the 2011 USxUK Secret Santa Exchange. Title comes from lyrics to When In Rome's "The Promise."

This year, for the first time in years, Arthur and Alfred will be spending Christmas together. "Your special presence is essential," the invitation had said, Alfred's sincere if somewhat awkward way of trying to show Arthur that, despite the change in the terminology of their relationship, nothing real has changed between them. Arthur suspected Alfred had put a great deal of thought into the invitation, down to the last word, and decided he wanted to do something in return, to show Alfred he felt the same. He recalled how Alfred always did like surprises when he was little, how his whole face would light up when he would see Arthur unannounced and his little body wouldn't be able to contain his joy, causing him to bounce up and down before he could propel himself forwards into a run.

And so Arthur finds himself walking up the path to Alfred's house two days before he's expected. Box from Alfred's favorite local bakery in hand, he mounts the front steps and rings the bell. When there's no answer, he tries knocking as well. Perhaps he should have rung ahead, after all. He goes round the side to the security gate and keys in 1-7-7-6. It's not much of a secret, Alfred's password—but then, perhaps it's only obvious if one knows who Alfred actually is. It's a good job Arthur does, then.

Pushing the gate open, he tiptoes through, shuts it slowly and quietly behind him. Although he's not wearing a red fur-trimmed suit and matching hat and although it's the middle of the afternoon instead of the middle of the night, he feels a bit like Father Christmas.

He makes his way round back, stealthily heading for the hiding place where Alfred keeps the key to the back door, when he's startled by the opening line of "Jingle Bells," robust and tuneful despite the overabundance of energy put into it, as if Alfred—for it could be no other—is singing each noun and verb in full capitalization.

Military espionage training kicking in, Arthur stays low to the ground as he sneaks over to the storage shed from whence the singing is emanating. He peers through the window and, through the dust on the inside, makes out Alfred on the far side, his back thankfully to Arthur. Boxes are strewn about in no discernible pattern, though some are piled up by the door. The top one is open, a tangle of Christmas lights spilling over the side. It seems Alfred has left his decorating late this year. Arthur glances back at Alfred, who is singing at the top of his lungs as he cheerfully makes an even greater mess of his already disorganized storage shed.

Alfred bends over the box he's just pulled down, box cutter slicing through the tape so he can lift up the top flaps. Whatever he sees is enough to make him break off the song. He straightens up and stands there, peering silently into the box. Just when Arthur's own curiosity is becoming unbearable and he's considering revealing himself so he can see what's holding Alfred's attention so, Alfred bends and lifts it out of the box. Arthur sees a flash of red: must be Alfred's Santa suit.

When Alfred shakes it out, Arthur sees that no, it's not that at all: it's not just a red coat—it's a redcoat. And not just any redcoat.

Alfred holds it out, head tilted to the side. "This is too big to be Arthur's," he muses aloud. Arthur's stomach sinks with disappointment that Alfred hasn't recognized it, only to be replaced by disappointment with himself that such a thing matters.

Then Alfred says, "Oh yeah..." and trails off into silence again as he continues to look at it, and Arthur doesn't have to be able to see his face to know that he's remembering, too:

Alfred was still small enough then to sit on Arthur's knee as Arthur regaled him with stories of his military victories.

"Arthur is awesome," Alfred said, wide-eyed with sincerity as he gazed up at Arthur. "The best."

"Yes, well, we'll see about that after this next battle."

"The one you have to go back across the ocean for?"

Arthur smoothed down Alfred's cowlick, letting his hand rest on the boy's head. "That's the one."

Alfred's face fell. "Can I keep this when you go?" he asked, lifting his hands, the cuffs of the redcoat drooping down, the shoulders slid well down his arms.

"I'll need that to fight France," Arthur said.

"You can beat France even without this, I know you can! No one can beat you, Arthur!"

Arthur smiled. "That may be so. But this is too big for you, lad."

"No, it's not!" When Arthur arched a brow at him, Alfred amended: "Well, I'll grow into it soon. I'm getting bigger every day—you even said so yourself when you saw me this time! Soon I'll be big enough to wear this." To prove his point, he sat up straighter and puffed out his chest in a vain attempt to fill out the coat, his cheeks puffing out too as he held his breath.

"When that day comes, I'll bring you a redcoat of your very own."

That was enough to cause Alfred's breath to come out in an audible rush. He didn't seem to deflate, though; quite the opposite, if anything. "You really mean it?" He searched Arthur's face earnestly. "You _promise_?"

"I promise," Arthur said, holding up his pinkie finger, watching Alfred's curl round it in return.

It was a promise kept if not entirely fulfilled, as Alfred never actually put on the uniform—

Until now. Hair still settling from the static of having pulled his sweater off overhead, Alfred slips one arm into the sleeve of the redcoat, reaches behind and fumbles for the opening of the other sleeve before he slides in fully and bows his head to do up the buttons.

It fits him. It fits him perfectly.

Arthur ducks down below the windowsill, sits with his back pressed to the storage shed.

After a while, he steals back the way he came, even goes outside the gate again. This time when he re-enters, he calls Alfred's name.

"Arthur!" Alfred calls back, coming out of the storage shed in only his undershirt. "You're early! Not that I'm complaining," he adds unnecessarily, his wide grin already telling Arthur as much.

Smiling in return, Arthur holds up the box. When Alfred sees the Vaccaro's logo, his eyes light up so brightly, the radiance spills out across his face. "Oh my god, are those cream puffs? Did you bring me cream puffs?"

"Come see for yourself," Arthur says, taking the last few steps to seat himself on the garden bench.

As he's always done, Alfred picks up his pace, though he doesn't break into the full-out run of his childhood and he's not breathless as he drops down beside Arthur on the bench.

He does, however, stuff an entire cream puff in his mouth in one go as soon as he's got the box open. "Wow, Arthur," he says, preparing to inhale a second cream puff. "I can't believe you remembered these are my favorites! It must be a decade since I took you there."

"I remember," Arthur says, more quietly than he means to.

Alfred glances over curiously but doesn't say anything. He even has the unexpected grace not to hold Arthur's gaze uncomfortably when their eyes meet. Arthur can still see the child he once was every time he looks at Alfred, but he also sometimes sees hints of new maturities he hadn't known Alfred had acquired.

Heat leeched away as the sun sets, a gust of wind picks up and washes over them, mussing Alfred's hair. Arthur looks at Alfred's bare arms. "Are you cold?" He leans forward, ready to take it off as he asks, "Do you want my jacket?"

"Oh, I'm fine! Besides," Alfred grins with a glance at the jacket, "that's way too small for me."

Arthur accepts the cream puff Alfred offers him, settling back on the bench they're sharing side-by-side, strangely and comfortably warm now that the wind's died down. "Quite right," he says, taking a truly delicious bite, watching the last light of the sun yield to the sparkle of stars overhead. "Just so."


End file.
